


Dinner Date

by DoMeCarisi (orphan_account)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Other, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DoMeCarisi
Summary: Sonny has something important to tell you.





	

You noticed that people tend to underestimate Sonny Carisi. At least, at first. But you don’t become a detective with the NYPD, put yourself through night school, and pass the NY State Bar Exam without being dedicated, driven, and smart as hell. 

The things that other people find annoying you find endearing - charming, even. They mistake his eagerness for inexperience and his optimism for naivete. But he’s so much more perceptive and cunning than people give him credit for, and it frustrated you that he didn’t get the respect he deserved. You had even seen the eye rolls and heard the passive aggressive remarks first hand. Sonny wouldn’t let it bother him, though, and you had to admire that about him. 

You couldn’t help but think back to the first night you met. He extended a hand toward you, and with a nod said, “Hey there. I’m Dominick Carisi Junior, but you can call me Sonny.” 

Instantly smitten, you replied back with a flirty smile, “Nice to meet you, Sonny.” 

You didn’t understand why this caused him to pause, then burst into a big smile. But a few weeks later you were on your first date - here, in this same Italian restaurant - and he told you that you were the first person at the precinct to use his preferred name. He also told you how welcome it made him feel, and how much it meant to him. 

As you silently reflect on the past, he watches you from across the table. He is trying to appear casual about it, but you can tell he is nervous. He is stiff, and the slight furrow of his brow betrays the smile he’s wearing. You also notice that he’s running his fingers through his silver-shocked hair more than usual - something he does when feeling particularly vulnerable. You may not be a detective yourself, but you are observant enough to pick up on his behavior.

"Dinner was amazing," you say, gesturing toward your empty plates. 

He wets his lips, as if he is about to say something, but doesn't. This is a bit unusual for Sonny, who usually speaks freely.

You're starting to feel a little nervous now yourself. You aren’t sure exactly what he has planned, only that it is something important. When he arranged the date, he had offered no details other than the time and place. But Sonny definitely has a sentimental streak, and has left a few clues. He’s brought you back to the location of your first date. He’s also wearing the tie you bought him for his birthday - the Salvatore Ferragamo one that Barba helped you pick out. His "special occasion" tie. But before you can analyze further, Sonny ungracefully reaches for his wine glass, taking a large gulp, and reflexively pushes his sleeves up to his elbows. 

“So, uh, do you remember the night we first met?” He asked, voice dry despite the wine. 

“Of course I do. And actually. I was just thinking about it,” you say. This seems to assure him, and he relaxes a little. He continues, a bit more himself now. 

“Well, that night I went home and --” but before he can finish, his phone begins to vibrate. Instantly, you tense up. You know what’s coming next. 

“Yeah, sure thing. I’ll be right there Lieu,” Sonny says into the phone before he hangs up and looks off, his jaw set hard. He takes a moment, sighs, then turns to look at you with regret written on his face. 

“I’m so sorry, doll.” The low light in the restaurant glints off his eyes. 

“It’s okay, I understand,” you nod. “It comes with the job,” you assure him, mustering a smile. You’re disappointed, but you don’t want him to feel guilty over something out of his control. And after dating for close to a year, you're used to it. He exhales with a nod and a small smile, saying, “Thank you.” 

He takes his coat off the back of the chair and puts it on, pulling his bifold from his pocket. He places a $100 bill on the table to cover the check.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be done tonight, but will you try and stay up for me?” he asks. 

“Yes, of course.” 

He leans down and kisses you with purpose. You can faintly taste the Merlot on his lips, and you don’t want him to leave, but you know he must. After a moment of hesitation, he turns and leaves the restaurant. 

Through the window you watch him put his hands in his pockets and walk away head down, against the snowy Manhattan night. What you don’t see is his hand inside his pocket, wrapped around the small black velvet box he picked out just for tonight.


End file.
